That which cannot endure: Mab Segrest and the search for community in Trump’s first week

This time last year I was wrestling with the works of writers such as Gayatri ­­­­­­Spivak, Audre Lorde and bell hooks who emphasised the failure of institutional feminism to represent women who weren’t white, middle class and heterosexual. As a student embarking on a project that looked at violations of women’s human rights – a topic that takes you deep into the cultures of underdeveloped nations and the colonial history of one’s own country – these were texts that filled me with anxiety. I was afraid of replicating the errors of my predecessors within the academy, of speaking for and over the oppressed women I sought to find justice for, and of reproducing the colonial power dynamics that I wanted to criticise.

At this moment of self-doubt (a crisis of confidence in my own ability to shed privilege and hear suffering in its own language), a tutor recommended a book…

I think you know how I think… (Sigh….) The pendulum swings, not just back and forth but sometimes turning on its axis into surreal territory, a stark land we’ve only visited in science fiction. And it’s terrifying. So much more one could say on the subject… Maybe in email when I’m able… (Ups and downs physically as usual. Hope you are doing well, Ben.)